Ten Random Shuffles, One Common Denominator
by OnceInALifetime
Summary: "The goalpost was surprisingly cold against the naked skin of his back." Ten drabbles written for a LiveJournal meme, with a Morgan/Reid slash pairing.


**Disclaimer: Criminal Minds? Yeah, don't own it. **

**Summary: Ten drabbles (premise explained in Notes below) with a Morgan/Reid slash pairing, although one or two are solely about Reid and Morgan independently.**

***Notes: I wrote this fic as a part of a Meme on LiveJournal. The rules of the Meme were to put your music program (in my case, iTunes), on shuffle, and start playing songs. For each song, you had the write something inspired by the song that was playing. You only had the length of the song to write, and there's no writing after the song is over. This was my result. I hope you enjoy!**

****EXPLANATION TO MY HIATUS FROM THE WORLD OF FANFICTION is at the end of the fic.**

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**10. **_Need You – Travie McCoy_

Reid has never been, nor will he ever be, perfect. Sure, he's smart- incredibly smart, literally a genius- and sure, he's physically acceptable by society's norms, if not anything exceptional.

Yet, he doesn't fit in. He's awkward and gangly, babbles when he's nervous, and his abilities of discerning rhetorical questions and sarcasm are on par with that of a child. His blessing is his mind, but his mind is his curse.

It's ironic, that the blessed can also be the cursed, that they are often one of the same, isn't it? It's been a repeated theme throughout history, one Spencer is well aware of. He knows how the cursed lived their lives; alone, unwanted, watching others happiness but never truly experiencing it themselves.

Yet, someone did want him, does want him. And not just _some_one, but a man whom anyone would be so incredibly lucky to have, a man who is strong and talented and brave and beautiful, everything Reid has always wanted and wished for but could never truly obtain.

When Morgan clutches at him in bed, sliding into him with a hot, heavy slowness that's intoxicating in its passion, Reid isn't the genius nerd who'll never fit in. He's Morgan's _Spencer_, the cause of his low moans and shortened breath and heavy breathing. And if that was all he was needed for, then that was enough for him.

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**9. **_S.E.X. – Nickelback_

The air was oppressive around them, a physical force, shortening the breath in their lungs and heating their skin from the outside in.

Morgan had Reid pressed up against the wall, dark hands pinning pale up against the wall in a stark contrast. Tongues battled, not for dominance, but merely for the sake of the battle; Morgan let one hand drift down from the wall, snaking down Reid's body until he reached the button of his corduroy pants. Swallowing Reid's desperate whimper into his mouth, he undid the pants and shoved his hand inside them, grasping tight and revelling in the jerk of Reid's hips.

Reid vibrated under him. Morgan could _feel_ his desire to move, could sense it in the tightly wound muscles and the throaty moans, but he refused to loosen his grip. This was just sex, just relief; what Reid wanted didn't matter, it couldn't matter.

(_Too bad it already did_).

Morgan dropped onto his knees, sucking him off with nothing but raw need. And when Reid finished, his hand came down to caress Morgan's face in a gesture so tender that neither of them could deny what it meant.

He stood up, wiped his mouth, and left the room.

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**8. **_Love The Way You Lie – Eminem feat. Rihanna_

Sometimes, he didn't even know why he did this anymore.

He knew about abusive relationships- he was a _profiler_, dammit! He knew the classic signs; when love turned to anger, anger to violence, and violence back to love. He knew it like he knew his own name. Hadn't he counselled others to get away from their abusers, hundreds and hundreds of times before?

He'd never understood why they couldn't, why people revolved around those they loved that hurt them, like a planet circling the sun. Maybe those planets were burned by the sun's heat, and yet that irresistible lure of gravity dragged them back. Maybe they didn't have a choice, just like him.

When Reid showed up that night, Morgan let him in, bracing himself. When Reid threw himself on the couch in a moment of lucidity, crying and begging for forgiveness, cheeks wet with tears and sobs being torn out of his throat, Morgan vowed that he'd stay strong. He couldn't do this anymore- he couldn't, he just _couldn't._

Thing was, Morgan had already forgiven him.

Within moments he was on the ground by the couch, pulling Reid into his arms, murmuring into his ear, promises of 'it's okay' and 'we'll get through this' and 'I love you' filling the air, every one of them true.

Thing is, he was forgiving _Reid_ for what had happened. Reid, not the _thing_ inside him. Not the schizophrenia, not the part of his mind that twisted his actions, that caused him to lash out with words and fists and actions. Not the part that Morgan knew existed, but refused to confront.

Better to have an abusive lover that could _probablymaybehopefully_ be fixed, then one who'd already lost his mind with no hope of saving at all.

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**7. **_Happy Ending – Mika_

The petals were such a stark red, unrealistically vibrant against the snow around them. Even the stem stood out, a deep green floating in a sea of gray, something real and _alive_, something incomprehensibly beautiful. A paradox.

After all, how could something in this world still be beautiful when Reid wasn't in it?

Six months; six long, unending, torturous months where Morgan had to wake up, had to live through that moment of ignorance, that moment that made the rest of his day so much more incomprehensible. Reid was dead, _deaddeaddead, _gone after Timothy Gabel had decided avoiding capture was worth the death of an FBI agent.

He hadn't just killed an FBI agent; he'd killed _Morgan's_ FBI agent. _Morgan's_ Reid, the almost delicate man with a backbone of steel and a heart that was impossibly warm. Timothy had killed a man who'd done nothing but good in the world, who had only wanted to make others happy. And _god_, had Reid made Morgan happy.

Morgan stroked the tombstone, feeling the coldness of it even through his gloved fingers. He didn't know who'd brought the rose, but Morgan had stopped bringing roses a long, long time ago; after all, what good would they do Reid, now?

Instead, he balanced a sugar-and-cream laden coffee, steam swirling into the air, on the gravestone. _Don't know if they have coffee up their in heaven, pretty boy, but god, I hope they do._ He spent one last moment staring down, resolutely forcing down the grief that had made home inside him.

He turned, heading back to his life, an empty house and an empty life with a giant hole in it, a giant, Dr. Spencer Reid shaped hole.

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**6. **_Perfect – Hedley_

His mother was a schizophrenic. His father, a man he'd never even known, a man who'd run out on his prodigy child and mentally ill child, full well knowing that neither could care for the other.

And then there was Morgan. Yeah, his family had a heart of gold, and loved him as much as any family should, but they'd still been blind to the damage done to Morgan when he'd watched his father die, watched blood trickle out of his mouth as his eyes went cold and blank, a slate being wiped for the final time. They'd been blind to the rage and anger that lived just beneath his dark skin; they'd been blind to Carl Buford, and how literal is 'interest' in Morgan truly was. And most of all, they'd been blind to the damage done after, in the wake of what had happened; they'd been blind to the aftermath.

Morgan was a damaged man through experience; Reid was a damaged man through genetics. Neither of them were perfect; god only knew how far they were from that unattainable ideal. And yet, they made each other whole.

They both tried to seal the cracks. Morgan talked, talked about how disappointed he felt in those he loved most, talked about the wounds buried so deep he could barely access them.

And Reid, he opened up, too. He spoke of his battle wounds, the scars left behind by an unstable mother and an invisible father. Neither of them were perfect, but together they were whole, and for them, that was enough.

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**5. **_No Love – Eminem feat Lil' Wayne_

The goalpost was surprisingly cold against his back. The rope was tight, chafing the tender skin of his stomach, and he could feel the mix of dirt and grass between his toes.

_That's it, just focus on the details. Just the details, only the details. Don't think about it._

Darkness had fallen, and it was shockingly cold. The nervous sweat from hours ago had dried, leaving him sticky and chilled, shivering with every gust of cold wind. He could still _hear _their laughter, all of them, laughing at him as they stripped him, _tormented_ him-

_Details, Spencer, Details_.

He stared up at the sky, reciting constellations and letting his fingers fiercely prod at the knots, trying to figure out a way to untie himself. He was so focused on the complexity of the knot that it took him a moment to notice when _they_ reappeared. Not just the kids, but his mom was there too, seeming, at first glance, surprisingly lucid.

He cried out in relief, but she just stared at him, something disgusted and disappointed clear in her eyes. He blinked, confused, and then his father was there too, eyebrows narrowed in frustration at his pathetic son, worthless, so worthless, the kind of child no man could ever be proud of, the kind of child that deserved this, this never-ending torment, the guilty burden of a mother who was crazy and the-

"Reid, Reid! C'mon, baby boy, wake up, wake up, it's not real, I'm here and it's okay- just wake up, Reid, c'mon and wake up."

A sharp sob tore from his throat as his eyes fluttered awake; tears were already on his cheeks, rolling down with a greater velocity then he could control. As always, shame flushed his cheeks, burning them, but one look into Morgan's dark eyes calmed him, reassured him.

After all, he wasn't the only one with nightmares.

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**4. **_Numb – Linkin' Park_

The needle bit into his skin, a sharp sting that was instantly mollified by the liquid now running through his veins.

A humourless laugh escaped Reid as he leaned back against the filthy grime of the public bathroom's wall, staring at the tile on the ceiling and absently creating patterns in his mind. Another laugh, more sincere, trickled out of him as the patterns started dancing in front of his eyes, swirling with a visible energy.

He lifted a hand (his arm was so heavy, so deliciously heavy), and clenched it, absently noticing the veins that bulged against his skin. Such a thin and fragile thing, the epidermis that covered his entire body, that protected him from infection and grime and sickness.

Now, his skin was just an obstacle for him, just like it was for the thousands of addicts across the country. He'd normally know the exact number of those addicts; that number danced in front of his eyes, but was out of his reach. Just like the memories, just like _everything. _

And really, that was the only reason he kept coming back to the Dilaudid. To forget. The shame and embarrassment and complete degradation he felt, here in this filthy bathroom, was worth the respite.

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**3. **_Fever – Adam Lambert_

"You are a complete_ asshole. _You know that, right?" An unmistakable timbre dominated Morgan's voice, moving it from a true state of pissed-off to something far more sensual.

Reid continued to pursue his book, probably about Some-Old-Dead-Guy's-Theory-On-Something-Irrelevent, as Morgan named most of Reid's literature. He seemed oblivious to the reaction he'd incited in Morgan, who was standing just feet away, pupils dilated and body tense.

"Although I technically _do_ have the anatomical parts you referred to as an 'asshole', that in no way makes me one," Reid muttered absently, flipping a page. "Taking the derogatory tone you used the word in, and considering its subtext in modern society, I can take it that you're not exactly pleased with me?" With that, Reid carefully placed a bookmark in his book, then set it on the table and leaned back in the chair.

"You _asshole!_" Morgan repeated as he realized that this was not all coincidence. Reid just hadn't happened to decide to wear the leather jacket Garcia had bought him; no, this was all intentional. He had wanted to rile up Morgan, _wanted_ to see him this aroused at the sight of his pretty boy encased in leather, the tips of his hair brushing the collar of the jacket and his wide doe-eyes seeming just that much more mischievous, framed by the cool material.

"What?" Reid asked, standing up slowly, with a litheness that only came with confidence. Confidence he only seemed to feel around Morgan.

Morgan's pride was drowned out, again, by arousal as Reid strode toward him, a flush coloring his cheeks even as he seemed pleased by Morgan's ogling. "After your story about that 'biker bar', I thought you'd appreciate the jacket. Garcia seemed to think so, too. Were we wrong?" The wicked gleam in Reid's eyes confirmed that he knew how appreciative Morgan truly was.

"Damn right I enjoy it." With that, Morgan caught Reid's mouth with a fierce kiss, licking a stripe into his mouth with the slightest hint of playfulness, before letting himself be manhandled into the bedroom. After all, this was Reid's turn to be dominant; and Morgan was going to love every minute of it.

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**2. **_Man Eater – Nelly Furtado feat. Timbaland_

Lights flashed, base pumped through the building, loud and gritty and almost alive in its intensity. Body's gyrated in the middle of the floor, limbs flung everywhere as people lost themselves in the music, in the motion of those around them.

Reid stood off to the sidelines, watching Morgan as he danced on the outskirts of the dance floor. He admired the way Morgan moved, his ability to flawlessly _feel_ where he needed to be to match the music, when he needed to be there, how to pulse with the music until he wasn't just dancing to it, but until the music itself was contorting itself to him and the ways of his body.

Highly irrational, completely impossible logic, but it suited the situation. Morgan had begged Reid to join him, many times before, but Reid refused. He preferred his position here, standing silent and watchful, simply enjoying the sight before him.

His ambling thoughts took a sharp turn as an attractive 20-something woman wound her way up to Morgan, sliding a hand around his neck and moulding herself to his body. While Reid could handle Morgan dancing with others- after all, it _was_ Reid that Morgan came home with each night, not them- it sparked something in him to see this woman so effortlessly approach _his _Morgan, as if she could wrap him so easily around her little finger.

Morgan pulled back, but she moved with him, plastering herself to his body. He seemed irritated, and glanced up instinctively around him. Upon catching Reid's hard gaze, he simply stared, giving him a chance to take control. _You don't like it, Reid? Do something about it._

So he did. He walked straight up to them, literally wrenched the girl out of Morgan's arms, and stepped into them. He wrapped his arms around Morgan's shoulders and pulled him close, swallowing Morgan's amused smile with a hard kiss.

The girl stood to the side, mouth agape, before moving on to her next target.

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**1. **_Make It Stop (September's Children) – Rise Against_

There were cases that would hit home for all of them. Anything with kids got to JJ and Hotch, tightening their mouths, causing their hands dart to their cell phones, desperate for even the slightest connection to their children.

For Morgan, it was those who preyed on the weak; the rapists, the pedophiles. Understandable and logical, rational even, considering his past, but there was nothing logical about the hatred he felt when he saw the pictures, read the case files, about some child who'd never even stood a chance.

_Everything_ got to Garcia, and almost nothing to Prentiss and Gideon, except for those cases that caused them to doubt what they did, and what they were doing it for.

As for Reid? It was cases like _this _that caused him to pause, that barely let him breathe past the tightening in his throat. Cases where teenagers- kids, really- had their lives snuffed out, just like _that_, because someone had looked at them and hadn't liked what they saw.

Matthew Barker: fifteen; Amanda Seymour: seventeen; Corey Giles: fourteen; Bobby Roer: just thirteen. All dead, because they cared for someone with the same chromosomes as them.

Bobby had liked to motorbike, and music had been Amanda's passion. Details, the ones that were lost in the hate crimes, lost in the brutality in their murders. _Those_ were the details that stuck with Reid; after all, those kids could've been him, back in high school. After all, he hadn't just been hated for his IQ.

The nights after those cases, when Morgan crawled into bed beside him, Reid laid rigid at the edge of the bed. And it was okay, because Morgan _knew _in that way he had, and he'd simply lie their until Reid turned into his embrace. They'd talk, they'd deal, maybe a tear would be shed.

And maybe, next time, they'd save those children before someone else destroyed them.

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**Quick note! First off, I'd like to say that **_**yes**_**, I'm back into the fanfiction world. I'm so incredibly sorry for the massive hiatus I took, and I wish there was a simple explanation to it. I posted an attempt at an explanation on my LiveJournal (over there, my account name is xoxoskaterxoxo), but to reiterate it: I've had a lot of personal issues over the past year, and I let writing fall to the wayside. Not because I wanted to, but because I physically couldn't put a pen to paper and have anything productive come out of it. **

**But now, I'm back, and despite how incredibly rough these drabbles are, I'm working on getting back to where I was. **_**The Moment I Said It **_**WILL be continued, I promise! I'm just trying to get back into the headspace I had when I began it, and then I'll start posting again. /end ramble.**

**Back to these drabbles! Please let me know what you thought of them! They're the first thing I've written in over a year, and any and all feedback is incredibly welcome. **


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